I have a confession. Much like the floppy-eared bunny that has a thing for sweet carrot tops, I too, it would seem, have a thing for sweet carrot tops. That is to say rangers. Gingers. Fire crotches. Big reds. Orange goblins. Pumpkin heads. Fanta pants. You get where I’m going with this. It was an affliction I never knew I had. Much like, I imagine, the roided-up douche bag with tattoos that goes around calling people dumb c***s, when in fact, he is the biggest dumb c**t of all. Probably not the best metaphor ever used (as I am about the farthest thing from a roided-up douch bag) but it describes my neighbour who’s been pissing me off a great deal of late. But I digress.
Ah yes, I remember it all too well. The first time I consciously registered an attraction to a ranga, that is. Actually, I lie, I don’t remember it well. I don’t remember anything well. Damn you adolescent binge drinking. But what I do remember, is looking at a google search on a friend’s computer and seeing a photo-shopped picture of Prince Harry, shirtless on a throne. (At least I’m pretty sure it was photoshopped…) Despite his flaming red hair, pale complexion and lack of discernable eyebrows, there was something extraordinarily sexy about that man, nay prince, sitting slouched and shirtless on a gold throne with a can of beer in hand (yeah ok, it was probably photoshopped…) Maybe my reaction would have been different if his perfectly smooth and chiselled abs had of been covered in a mat of curly orange pubesque hair. Who knows? But subsequent google searches have confirmed I am indeed attracted to Prince Harry, the royal ranga. (This attraction doubles when he is in uniform… swoon.)
My next biggest clue, and one my colleagues will certainly attest to, is the almost (read entirely) neurotic obsession I have with UK acoustic legend Ed Sheeran. And if you don’t like him, you can get off my blog right now. Go on. I said good day to you. Those who aren’t a fan of the British pop star are often befuddled and confused by my (and a great many other screaming female fans) overwhelming attraction to the relatively short singer-songwriter. Admittedly, in some photos he does look a little bit like a frog with those eyes that are set just a little too far apart and a sort of thin mouth that is just a little too wide. But alas, I find him absolutely adorable. Even with his unwashed orange mop of hair, moon-tan and complete lack of eyebrows, he is still on the top of my global want-to-bang list. (He’s tied in first place with Harry).
Having two carrot-tops topping my to-do list has got me thinking though. My attraction could be more than pigment deep. Maybe it’s not the hair colour of these two Fanta-pants I’m attracted to, but rather their accomplishments. Their stature. Their worldwide acclaim. The personality they emit to the masses. First you have Harry, who’s literally prince charming. Polite, well-educated, charity-working war hero. Then there’s Ed. The passionate self-made musician who went from sleeping on the subway to sleeping with a movie star (as he so eloquently phrased it).
Maybe their red hair is their super power? Like Green Lantern’s green lantern (not doing great with the metaphors here am I?) Or maybe hair pigment only plays a very small role in the laws of attraction, and it’s the values, kindness, personality and humourin a person that makes us attracted to them. That or it’s a scientific thing about finding a mate who’s genetically different enough to carry beneficial immunities and traits you don’t have but not so different those immunities and traits are redundant in your environment. But who’s to say? Guess I’m just Thinking Out Loud.